Law Firms and Restaurants
by MaskedHeart
Summary: AU Lilly Truscott's a sous chef, and a bad one at that, and Oliver Oken's a lawyer, and an excellent one at that. You can't make it anymore...unlikely? Loliver AU
1. Chapter 1

**Er, ello. This is my new story. With chapters. Okay, this is just the prologue, I guess, so yeah. Basically, Lilly and Miley work in a restaurant together, and Oliver is a lawyer. Key: they don't know each other! I know it seems like a Becca/Oliver thingy right now, but don't worry, it turns to Loliver later. Alex Stolar is a person who happens to be a good friend of mine, so now, I own him on this site. Hah. And now, for the disclaimer said by Alex Stolar….**

**Alex: This is the disclaimer. MaskedHeart, a.k.a. Ruthie doesn't own Hannah Montana at all, even though she wished that she could. She only owns me, and the plot. Kinda. **

**This is dedicated to Alex Stolar! Kinda. :D**

Stolar's Grill, New York City, New York.

"One risotto, four Royal fillets, two yellow fin tuna, six foie gras pork, and one chicken. Are we clear?" Executive chef Alex Stolar barked out into the muggy kitchen, glaring menacingly at everyone.

"Yes," was the hasty reply, except for one terrified blonde in the corner.

_What? What did he say? I only heard the word bass. Is that bad, considering Stolar's already mad at me? Whatever, Lilly. You can do this. Just, uh...just get out a pan and cook some sauce. Yeah, sauce. Wait…just how do you cook sauce again?_

"Truscott! Get up and cook, before Stolar catches you…again."

Lilly whipped her head around to look at the brunette chopping onions beside her.

"Stewart, do you have any idea what he just said?"

"Truscott, of course! Sweet niblets, did you catch anything?" was the whispered Southern twang answer.

"Uh, I got the word bass."

A soft sigh was heard, and Miley finished cutting up the onions and swiftly swept them into a sizzling pan.

"Okay, you only have to do _one_ thing, since you're at starter. Cook the risotto."

Lilly gave a squeak. "I sucked at risotto in culinary school! I only just barely made it on the last day, and that sucked too! It tasted like dishwater."

A worried look crossed Miley's face.

"Truscott, just how exactly do you know how dishwater tastes like?"

"Main Station! How many minutes?"

"Two minutes, Chef." Miley hastily answered. She quickly turned back and started to defrost the tuna.

"Stewart, how are you going to cook a main dish in two minutes?"

Her face rigid, concentrating on the pan. "If I hurry."

"Let me help! I can…uh."

"Truscott, it's okay. Just go cook your risotto."

"Starter! How many minutes?"

"Uh…two minutes, Chef."

"Impressive, Truscott."

_Did Stolar actually not give me a glare? Wow, that's a record! Sweet. Wait, oh crap. Crapola. I still need to make the risotto. Oh, crap. Oh, CRAP. Okay, Lilly. Risotto…it's made out of rice, and…sauce, right? I think. Just get out a pan. Put some oil in it. Okay, done. Put in some garlic and onions, right? Right. You know, this is pretty easy! _

"Starter, minutes!"

"One minute, Chef!" _Why isn't the pan sizzling? Oh well, I guess it has to heat up or something. _

"Main, up to the plating station." To Lilly's amazement, Miley swept by her, a smug look on her face. _Wow, I guess Miley CAN cook a dish in two minutes._

_Okay, the pan still isn't sizzling. Or even remotely warm. Wait…oh no, it's not even on! Oh no, Stolar will kill me. I can still make it. Just put on your acting face, Lilly! _

"Truscott, your risotto to the plating station!"

"Yes Chef."

_Just…take the pan. Pretend it's hot. Okay, put on your anxious face. Now, put your finger on the pan an-_

"OW! Ohmigosh, this hurts so much! OW, OW, OW!" Lilly dropped the pan, her face scrunched up, and tears running out of her eyes.

"Truscott!" Two voices cried out. Miley was running toward her, a look of pure concern on her features. Alex Stolar swiftly walked to her, some annoyance hidden in his blue eyes.

Miley wasn't looking when she tripped over a cart full of pots and pans, and a deafening crash sounded, startling everyone. Sous chefs jumped, spilling the food. Customers became quiet, peering curiously at the kitchen. Waiters screeched as the hot food they had been carrying soaked into their uniforms. Miley was unconscious, draped over a stew pot. Lilly forgot about her 'burn' and rushed to her friend.

"Miley? Miley, wake up! Miley?"

Lilly Truscott didn't know it, but this was the start of something new...

2:54 P.M., Thor and Dewitt Law Firm, New York City, New York.

Becca Weller sat primly at her desk, manicured fingernails tapping away at her computer.

"Hey, Becca? Could you get me a coffee, please?" A low, tired voice sounded from the cubicle beside her.

"Sure. Do you want any cream or whatever?"

"Nah, just regular black coffee."

Becca inwardly shuddered, and made herself smile. Black coffee was disgusting. That's why Starbucks existed in the world…seriously. "Sure thing!" she chirped, and pushed herself away from the computer.

"Thanks."

Her high heels were muffled by the grey, boring carpet. She walked over to a small room, and let herself in. Flicking on the light, she got out a paper cup and poured in the coffee, grimacing at the sight. Sighing, she got out a plastic lid and faintly wondered if the firm recycled them. Probably not.

She couldn't believe she actually wanted to be a secretary when she was little. It sucked. It was boring.

Closing the door behind her, she swiftly walked out, her eyes closed as she yawned.

"Hey!"

Becca opened her eyes, but it was too late. Heads stuck out of their cubicles, and gasped collectively.

A loud splashing sound was heard, and she winced in fear. She had just spilled coffee on Oliver Oken. Oliver Oken, who happened to be a very excellent lawyer. Oliver Oken, who happened to be glaring at her. Oliver Oken, who happened to be studying her face curiously. Oliver Oken, who happened to be grinning slightly, and helping her up.

"I'm so, so sorry! I totally didn't mean to spill coffee on you, I mean, seriously! And especially black coffee. Black coffee is disgusting! I mean, Howard wanted it though, so it's not mine, but I still didn't mean to spill it, and especially on you! Oh G-d, I'm so sorry…it's all my fault."

"Hey, it's alright. Becca Weller, right?" he grinned at her, flashing his white teeth. She blushed, and ducked her head.

"Yeah. Uh, listen, I have to head back to my desk now."

"Sure." He looked carefully at her face, and smiled wider.

Becca Weller didn't know it, but it was the start of something that she would regret. A lot.

**I know that there are some typos in this, but…yeah. Constructive criticism would be appreciated! I mean, constructive criticism is NEEDED! Please? I think I saw teeny High School Musical references in there. First one to guess who the characters are in the law firm name gets virtual cookies! **


	2. Chapter 2Macaroni Meltdown

**So, HI! HI! I will now announce the winner of the virtual cookies...drum rollIS...AColdSky! You get a whole platter of warm virtual cookies, all shapes and assortments! And Alex insisted that I bake cookies for the rest of you reviewers, so you guys get a PLATE of cookies. :D (and yes, it WAS Thor and Ashley.) So...yeah!**

**Alex: MaskedHeart never did bake cookies for ME. **

**Alex, just say the disclaimer. I'll give you a doughnut. **

**Alex: OOH! Okay! MaskedHeart doesn't own Hannah Montana, she only owns the plot of this story and me...kinda. Can I have my doughnut now?**

**SIKE! You just get a cookie, Alex. I'm giving out doughnuts in the next chapter. **

"La, dee dum…la, la, la…"

You know, this is pretty easy. I mean, really! Putting water in a pot, and turning the heat all the way up! And furthermore, the macaroni box has INSTRUCTIONS on it! Woo hoo! Now, let's just see if I can get it open…Mmphft. Must. Get. Open. Must…get…OPEN. Open sesame! Abra Cadabra! Mucus Toehoocus? Darn macaroni…I must get it open! My life depends on it! Open, you stupid piece of cr-

"Oh, FIGS." I exclaimed. Pieces of uncooked pasta lay scattered all over the floor.

Even the little cheese powder packet had burst open. How had the little cheese powder packet burst open? Really, wasn't that the reason for the sealed tight guarantee?

_Hmph! This is a tragedy! Macaroni companies aren't following through with their promises, such a shame. I'll just have to use my lawyer power and SUE THEM! Heh. Lawyer Power. That almost rhymed. Maybe that'll be my Plan B occupation if I ever get fired from Thor and Dewitt. I'll live in a little cabin by the side of a country road, and a little stream will be burbling through, making music to my ears. Music…music to my ears. Hum, funny. I almost hear the burbling right now. Wait, WHY do I hear burbling? Oh, FIGS. The pot thing! There are bubbles, and it looks extremely dangerous. Funny, aren't bubbles supposed to be all puffy and pink and stuff? Maybe it won't hurt if I take the lid off. Just, uh…just carefully approach the pot from a different angle. Muster up all your courage, and interrogate it! _

"Pot, WHY are you bubbling? Huh? Huh? Yeah, I said it, homie sizzle! WHY YOU BUBBLING?!" I tried out my gangster voice. Intimidation is the key to success, right?

The bubbles escalated even higher.

"Maybe I should take a different approach." I mumble. I really should take notes on this.

"Pot, could you, uh, please stop bubbling up? Because if you explode or something, that wouldn't be good. That would definitely not be good. Please, with no lawsuits on top?" Well, after intimidation there's always begging for the key to success.

The bubbles spilled out of the pot, steam arising from them. I duck quickly, grabbing the nearest thing to me. _My client's papers from today._

"Don't explode…don't explode!" I squeak, holding up my papers.

At least this will be my shield when the scalding water cascades over me. You know, maybe I shouldn't be directly under the pot…

**Fizzzzzzzzzle.**

_Oh, shoot. The bubbles have turned EVIL! They're cascading down, like an avalanche of bubbles. I need to dodge the bubbles! Okay, Oken. Time to use your COOKING SMARTS!_

_Wait, I don't have any cooking smarts. Darn._

_Aw, forget the cooking smarts and SAVE YOURSELF, OKEN!_

I roll out of the way, sighing in relief as I see that I am safe from the evil bubbles. At least the papers on the floor will help soak them in, so I won't have to use my last toilet paper roll and try to clean it up.

WAIT. PAPERS. CLIENT. IMPORTANT!

"Noooooooooooooooooooo!" I scramble to the papers, but stop short suddenly. I frantically look back. My shoelace is stuck to the kitchen table! How did it get stuck in the kitchen table?

I lunge forward, bringing the kitchen table with me. The bubbles are almost there! No, anything but the papers! Just one…last….attempt! My fingers are outstretched to the limit, my face grimacing…when I grab hold of the papers! I hear faint bangs, booms, and babooms, but I'm too relieved to care. I finally have the papers! Yes!

My brow furrows as I hear a crackling sound, getting louder, and louder…

I turn around, and see the huge basket of soaps my next-door neighbor Mrs. Higgins gave me. It looks scary.

_Has EVERYTHING TURNED EVIL?_

I feel a numb sensation on my hands, and squeal in pain. The bubbles have reached their destination!

_Aw, figs. This will be my fate, I guess. Stuck in my kitchen, with evil bubbles burning through my skin and a soap basket hurtling toward me. Well, at least I'm not dying under an avalanche of papers in my office. That would suck, considering that my desk is really messy. Hmmm. I'm bored._

_How am I bored? I'm about to DIE!_

Suddenly, I see gray smoke rise up to the ceiling.

"Oh…shiz."

_Did I ever get that smoke detector installed? _was my last thought before the soap basket fell.

_Ooh, why do I see all these pretty colors? There's a purple swirly near me. Purple is a pretty color. There are so many colors around me! Pretty, pretty colors...Lookee! There's a pretty green swirly floating by me! Wait...did I just see a roll of supersized toilet paper rolls? I need those! I'll just use my arms and swim toward the toilet paper...I said, I'll just USE MY ARMS TO SWIM TO THE TOILET PAPER. Hey! Arms, swim! ...Why won't my arms swim? Okay, I'll just have to use my legs...where are my legs? Where are my arms? OH MY GOSH, I'M A GIANT BLOB!_

"Oliver?"

_I don't want to be a giant blob! How will I head to work? Oh no...the toilet paper is floating away! NO!  
_

"Oliver..."

_The toilet paper is calling out to me. Funny, why is Santa Claus's face on the toilet paper? Now that's just sick and wrong on so many levels..._

"Oliver, will you open your eyes?"

_...Someone is stroking my forehead. _

I open my eyes, and quickly close them. The light is almost blinding.

"Well, ma'am, he'll be okay." I hear a low melodic voice.

"O-okay, thank you so much, Doctor!"

"Don't mention it."

I open my eyes tentatively. Oh, there's that secretary from work! Becca...Weller, I think.Her back is turned to me, and she seems to be writing in a notepad. Hmm. I'm suddenly craving for some macaroni.

"Becca...?"

She turns around quickly, and her face lights up at the sight of me. "Oliver! Thank goodness you're alright!"

"W...what happened?"

"Oh, um. I live right across the hall from your apartment, and I was just relaxing and reading a book when I heard a crash from your place. So, I opened the door, and I saw smoke coming through the door. So then, I, uh, called 911 and then opened your door to see if you were alright..." she trailed off.

Wait...Becca lives in the apartment across me?

"...And, well...I saw you sprawled on the floor with a soap basket practically crushing you, and I saw this huge fire on your stove. So, I pushed off the soap basket and had to kind of push you to my place, where I laid you down on my couch and waited for ER people to arrive."

I'm shocked. Becca did all of this for me?

"T-thank you." I stutter, and look into her shy green eyes.

"Don't worry about it, it's okay." she looked down at her shoes.

I smiled at her warmly. "So, do you want to..." I look at my watch. 6:34. "...catch some dinner with me?"

"You don't have to repay me or anything, Oliver. Like I said, it's...fine." she said quickly, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"No, I really want to take you out to dinner. Seriously."

"Oh...well, okay. I accept."

"So it's a date then. C'mon!" I hold out my arm to her and she takes it, smiling widely.

_Wow, I've never really seen Becca like this before._

HMLOLLIEHMLOLLIE

"Truscott, Truscott, Truscott. What in the world have you done?"

I gulp. "Uh...what do you...mean?" I grin feebly at Alex, who just glares at me.

"You've caused one of our best chefs to trip, and now she has to go to the hospital, and you've done nothing this month except cause trouble! I don't really think you're up to the standards of this job..." Alex raises his eyebrows and looks at me.

"W-well...b-b-but...I can cook, I swear!"

"Truscott..."

"Please, I can cook!"

"You're fired."

**So, hi! Um...yeah, hi! Constructive criticism is good. So...uh, yeah. Hope you liked the story! **


	3. Chapter 3Skewers and Fricks

**Hello, uh. Readers. Hi. Hi! Anyways, just a 'shout out' to luvschaylor4ever AND robyn. Thank you so so so so so much for giving me constructive criticism! I FEED off of it! Well, not really. But yeah. I know, tenses are my worst enemy so far. (and all 7 beta readers never DID PM ME BACK) . I'm working on it. Working, working, working, working…Oh wait, yeah! You guys needs doughnuts! Alex Stolar is on vacation (a.k.a. I'm sick of typing him in all the time) So, here. You guys can have doughnuts. Woohoo! Well anyways, I need to stop typing in author notes in the beginning so you people can read the story and (hint, hint) give me constructive criticism, which, again, I feed off of. (HINT, HINT) **

**Oh yeah, Barney is involved in this, so I'm very sorry if Barney and the kids aren't in character. Or if the songs are horribly horrible. (which they are, I may be an immature kid at heart, but have no idea about those learning songs or whatever.)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Tired of saying so.**

"Buh duh buh buh buh-"

"Now for some EVO-"

"BAD DOBBY! BAD DOBBY! BAD-"

"Muahahahaha. Of course I will take ov-"

"LOOK AT THE WAY MIGHTY PUTTY SEA-"

"I love you, you love-"

I really, really need a life.

The TV is off.

The windows are musty.

My apartment is messy.

And my life is quivering somewhere in my closet.

I reach for the remote and turn the TV on again.

"We love you Barney!"

"I love you too, kids!"

Oh, goody gumdrops. It's just peachy that little infants love Barney, the purple dinosaur, so much. Frankly, I don't see why Barney's so hot.

"Let's sing a song, kids!"

"Yay!"

‑­

"Little children, listen in!"

"Stand up straight and be sure to grin!"

"Because Barney loves his little children always kind and neat as a pin!"

Uh…wow.

My eye is twitching slightly from the dancing kids. And Barney, with his blinding white teeth. Why can't there be bad role models for kids, huh? There always has to be good role models, with their white teeth and perfect vocabulary, and a perfect life, and perfect actions. Phooey. I could be a fricking role model for kids. I mean, look at my life! Getting fired…having a messy apartment…not showering in days…

The television is off again.

I'm sneezing from the dust on the windows.

There's a smell in my apartment.

And my life is still quivering in the back of my closet.

I really, really need a life. Or a job. Either would be good right now.

"Get out." Ice cold blue eyes are glaring at me.

"B-but, what am I going to do? I don't have another job, and please, just let me have another chance! Please." My mind flashes to an image of a cartoon me speared with a skewer, and green peppers on either side.

"Truscott, I don't really care. Just get out of my kitchen." I'm slow roasting on a grill. Slowly, so the juices will be at their full flavor. 

I walk out quickly, trying to ignore the tears forming. I'm being turned slowly on the grill, sear marks on me. A pungent odor fills the-

Oh, just shut up!

HMLOLLIELOLLIEtikkatikkaowww

No. Fricking. Way.

I just scored a fricking date with a fricking hot girl who happens to work in my fricking law firm, but who fricking cares? She's fricking awesome.

Frick.  
Frickity frick frick.

Frick. I love this. I love saying the word 'frick.' I love life so much right now.

I love life! Yes, that's right, to all you cynical freaks out there: I fricking LOVE my fricking life.

But...I don't love my apartment.

As I look around, I kind of wish that I had a maid.

Maid.

Frick!

I can do that! I can find a maid! Yes, that's right. I, Oliver Oscar-fricking-Oken, can find a maid.

From the fricking telephone pages!

"Okay. So, um…services."

11:23 PM

M.

Ma.

Mai.

Maiden In Distress Theatre.

…

11:32 PM

To the internet!

Google.

Maid services.

…

11:34 PM

W-what? A…pleasant feeling time?

Oh. My. Goodness.

…

11:40 PM

To my newly found to be girlfriend, Becca!

…There's a sign on her door. It says: DO NOT INTERRUPT MY SLEEP, OR ELSE I WILL SUE YOU WITH THE LAWYERS I WORK UNDER.

What the…?

Is that…supposed to be a joke?

…

11:40 (and 23 seconds) PM

Okay, last chance.

To the newspaper ads!

…

11:46 PM

I have devised an advertisement, because there were no maids offering services to clean living spaces.

Lawyer looking 4 maid 2 clean up apartment, call 212-3339 for details. Leave message.

And I will now slip that with 11 dollars and 57 cents in a manila folder with my local newspaper's address neatly penned, where I will now descend down a staircase, proceed to tr-

"OW. FRICK."

-ip down the said staircase, go to my mailbox, realize I forgot my key for my mailbox, go back up the fricking stairs, proceed to tr-

"OW. FRICK."

-ip up the said staircase, go to my apartment, find the key under some very dirty laundry, tie my shoes, descend down staircase, NOT trip on staircase, go to mailbox, open mailbox, and with much difficulty, jam the manila folder into the two inch slot, and trudge back up the fricking stairs, where-

"FRICK. I fricking locked myself out of my own fricking apartment."

12:34 PM


End file.
